Lost To Love
by Funky In Fishnet
Summary: Agron does not want any that he loves to leave again. But will the gods ever allow such a thing?


_**Disclaimer:** I own nothing._

_**Author Note: **Sequel to 'The Ghosts That Talk' and 'When The Moonflowers Grow.'_

* * *

**LOST TO LOVE**

Their first kiss occurred under a heavily-laden fruit tree. Nasir was leaning against Agron, Agron's arms wrapped around him. He was always happy to touch Nasir and to see Nasir's happiness in return. He made Nasir happy. It was an unexpected thing, a thing that the gods were bound to make attempt to snatch back. It had always been so for Agron.

But on this day, Agron was telling Nasir the story of a starry-eyed Duro and how he had nearly gotten caught and beaten for following the handmaiden of a very rich trader's wife. Agron had managed to tumble them both out of trouble and save their eyes from becoming forfeit. Duro had stubbornly claimed that he would follow the handmaiden again; he'd follow her even if he was blind.

It still hurt to talk of Duro, but it hurt less to talk of him to Nasir, and to Sibyl. Nasir always listened, his hands on Agron, his eyes understanding. He laughed at Agron's revelation that he used to have long hair, pulled tight into many braids. His hands touched Agron, saying so much, drawing Agron in. He was captivating.

Agron had felt the urge to kiss him for some time, but did not wish to presume. Nasir was living a new life, perhaps he would not wish for any such touch again. But Nasir intertwined their fingers and stayed so close, something yearning in his eyes. Agron could not resist forever, and it appeared Nasir did not want him to.

Nasir's lips parted and his hands reached for Agron. Agron felt rough bark at his back and smiled into the kiss. Nasir was taking control, as he should. It caused Agron's skin and veins to light up. It was like stepping on sand in the highest heat of the day. It stole away his breath.

There was no clever smoothness to Nasir's kiss, nothing that spoke of years providing pleasure on command. Instead there was rough hunger and a sweet need that spoke loudly of something else- Nasir was following his own desires. Agron shivered and held him close, unwilling and unable to let go.

* * *

Sibyl smiled and nudged at Agron's shoulder as Nasir learned swordplay from Saxa.

"I dreamed you would find happiness together."

Agron nodded thanks at her approval but his lips thinned at thoughts of the gods. The gods gave – they had given him Sibyl and Nasir – but they took away in greater measure. He would not stand to once more lose all that he held dear.

He would tear blood from the heavens if he had to.

* * *

"We leave soon," Saxa announced.

Agron's gaze snapped up immediately, his hands continuing to rub at Sibyl's arms, to try and loosen her pained tension. She had suffered terrible visions that morning and was still aching, her eyes slightly glazed. Saxa's words were too much distraction.

"You would leave Sura?" Agron asked in disbelief.

He and Saxa had talked about many things and he knew her dedication to her prophet. But something tugged at his memory; Sibyl had said that one day Sura would leave, and it would be the day that...Agron paused in his ministrations and looked down at the letters etched onto Sibyl's arm, put there by Sura herself.

Sibyl looked at him, her eyes clearing and then filling with sad understanding. Agron stared back, a chill sweeping through him.

"She knows her words," Saxa confirmed. "So we leave soon."

Agron's eyes were still fixed on Sibyl. Once her breathing became steady again and her limbs relaxed, she threw her arms around him. Agron caught sight of Nasir, talking to one of the sisters, and his heart hurt.

Sibyl breathed softly in his ear. "This is my place. I could stand without you, as I did before. You have Nasir..."

Agron shook his head, pressing a hand to her hair. Fuck the gods. He would not lose another...He would not.

His gaze dropped to Sibyl's arm, to the still-bright letters painted there, letters that tied her to this place, that had bound her to him. The gods were fucking clear and cruel; there was more than one way to lose somebody.

* * *

Sura arranged to leave quickly. She talked to the sisterhood and proclaimed that there was work the gods would have her do beyond the temple. Once Sura left, another prophet would eventually arrive, perhaps as young as Sibyl once was, perhaps not. Mira and Saxa would leave with Sura.

"Sura follows her dream," Mira told Agron, sharpening one of her small blades. "She has told us we are free, we are, we always have been, and we choose her."

Agron looked towards Sibyl, clad in blue and silver and talking to Nasir, both of them wearing small smiles, both of them relaxed and open. Agron's heart clenched. He knew what he would choose, but what of Nasir?

"You worry for the future?" Nasir guessed, when they stood at the south doorway, twilight cloaking their world.

Agron nodded, something caught in his throat. He tried to swallow past it. "When Sura leaves, I cannot abandon Sibyl to the mercy of the gods."

Agron did not say _I cannot imagine living without you _or_ losing either of you would be as a nightmare_, but such things were loud in his heart and head. Nasir's smile softened and he brushed knuckles across Agron's face. He smiled as though he heard Agron's thoughts. He drew closer, Agron's arms instantly winding around him, wanting him to stay so near forever.

Nasir's words were both soft and firm. "I cannot imagine doing so either."

Agron could only stare, his heart full to the brim and pounding, his head disbelieving. Were the gods so kind now? How long would Nasir truly stay, watching one he cared for suffering so often? And when Sibyl left the temple, would Nasir walk where she did as Agron would? Or would Agron's heart be torn asunder once more, the gods' cruelty a vicious certainty? There was always so much pain, even for those 'blessed' by the gods.

Nasir stretched and pressed his mouth to Agron's, his tongue sliding across Agron's bottom lip. Agron shuddered; sound bubbling up his throat, his thoughts struggling to hold. He was lost, he was anchored. Always, he would be unable to let go.

_-the end_


End file.
